PS 3537 
.T183 
T5 

1920 
Copy 1 



iHERE IS NO NIGHT 

BY IRA EDMUND STANFORD 




THERE IS NO NIGHT 

AND OTHER VERSE 

Written and Assembled by 

IRA EDMUND STANFORD 

Author of 

"Wayside Gleanings," "Service," 

"A Royal Success," "Texts," 

"Democracy," etc. 



DENRJCM 



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Copyright 1920 

by 
Ira Edmund Stanford 



APR -9 1920 



C1A567706 



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THERE IS NO NIGHT 



33 



INTERROGATION 

OK! dust of eartK! 

ToucKed by tke leven 
WKicK was and is: 

TKe Word in heaven, 
Whence art thou? Lo! 

Whither dost thou feo? 




Behold! The Father in the son 
Promise and pledge fulfilled in one. 




A PILGRIM 



COMMITMENT 



Throu^K tKe panoramic vicissitudes and asso- 
ciations of a Kalf century, seeing, hearing, touching, 
and tasting, tKe real things that constitute a human 
life, I have studied and observed with keenest 
scrutiny, from hovel and hut, from classroom, 
prison, and mart, the desires, ambitions, achieve- 
ments and destinies of men. 

Having elbowed with those tossed on billows 
of adversity — g,ored by the horns of disappoint- 
ment in both affection and finance — yea, having 
been permitted to ^rasp the hand and stay the 
thought of some standing on the very pinnacle of 
despair imploring the bodkin or other a|,ent of 
the unknown and meanwhile having, sought 
diligently for the well spring — probed for the 
secret touch, the "modus operandi" of building, 
^reat character; I have an incurable pursuasion 
that every man under normal dome is born with 
a faculty (latent or ignored) which possesses him 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



witK an innate ability not only to recognize but 
to pass judg,ment upon all acts of rig,ht and wron^ 
as pertains to his own character. 

If he "will follow w^ith unfaltering alacrity the 
dictations from within, not allowing himself to 
become dwarfed, biased, or pi^mied by strained 
commercialism, false teaching, and evil association, 
he will, regardless of place, color, or condition, 
countersu^g,estion or whatsoever, ultimately pass 
judgement on his ow^n acts — determine his ow^n 
destiny, and attain unto perfect happiness and 
abiding, peace. 

It is my further conviction that if every man 
were scrupulously honest and box-toed with 
himself — ^oing, forth to bailiff with all alacrity 
every minute verdict of his internal court^ — the 
heart, eg,o, eclesia, mind, or will, the most coveted 
^oal, the wildest ambition, and highest ideals 
would become immediate realities. Straightway 
universal justice would prevail, and the Utopian 
a^e would be transformed from the misty, in- 
tangible, far-off dream into a glorious, opulent 
present reality. 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



To all who are passing throug,K trials of priva- 
tion, discouragements, anxiety, disappointments, 
agonies with lin^erin^ doubts and na^^in^ fears — 
you have an anchor which is sure and steadfast 
within you. It (the truth) shall be in you a well 
of water springing, up unto everlasting life. Thus 
anchored, we shall possess the grandeur of inde- 
pendent integrity, the sublimest thing, in all 
nature. 

Now, to all such and to the many friends who 
have desired a copy of "There Is no Ni^ht" after 
much thoug,ht mingled with serious meditation, I 
affectionately submit this little booklet with the 
full hope that you — studying to show yourself 
approved unto ^ood, may learn the secret of 
happiness in service, g,rasp the author's interpre- 
tation of living, truth and behold your li^ht. 

Most sincerely committed, 

IRA EDMUND STANFORD. 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 

Old! Growing old! Aye, can it be? 

Man not born for eternity? 
Dons he tKe cradle labeled old 

To swiftly pass like tales he's told, 
Doth bended form, do tresses ^ray 

Bespeak thee more than closing day? 
Yon orb of li^ht doth steal away 

To but clothe vales in vestures ^ray. 
Think you the tints on crests between 

Can rob one whit of splendent sheen? 
Not sobs, nor tears, nor any plight 

Can stay his irresistless flight. 
Lon^ shadows fall from cotta|,e old, 

Blank ni^ht creeps on. Blank? I behold 
In fancy wild, the frizzled shrouds 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



WKicK wrap the clay of myriad crowds, 
I scan tKe bier, tKat reckoned spouse 

Of all wKo 'proach the narrow house. 
The wailing wind brings woeful tone 

That chills the marrow in my bone. 
Doth coy man tread the mystic deep 

Whence strangely soon there's none 
to w^eep? 
What! One step bare and one that's shod, 

Then fold our mantles 'neath the sod? 
Strange sounds are heard at dead of nig,ht 

When some lone soul is taking flight. 
I list once more, I strain my sig,ht. 

To hear no voice and catch no li^ht. 
It stays my thoughts, they trouble so, 

Those horrid doubts of lon^ a^o. 
A grassy knoll, prepared place 

For faith and zeal in such a race? 
A home like that, down twixt the pines 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



Its walls bedecked with moss and vines? 
Think you Omnicience ever could 

Forsake the thin^ he once called ^ood? 
Justice defies the demon's thrust 

That men, like worms, return to dust. 
I reaffirm; it must be ri^ht. 

That unto man THERE IS NO NIGHT. 
That awful thoug,ht o'er whelms my brain 

'Til body rent and racked with pain 
Upstarts as from its wanton dreams 

To hail once more, perchance what seems 
A fiery arm; a missile clasped 

With which to break this monster's ^rasp 
'Tw^as vapored spray across the deep, 

A meteor had ^one to sleep. 
Once more, in darkness all alone, 

I felt within, the spirit's ^roan. 
And spectres jeered in boisterous ^lee 

"Lost is your opportunity." 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 

BeneatK the damp and cKill of death 

I gasped and g,asped for one more breath, 
By which to hurl the arch foe fear 

With "Would to God my Lord were here." 
Though pulses fail, my throat would fill, 

I whisper yet, "Thy will! Thy will! 
I am thy child, for aye shall be. 

To such there's no extremity, 
Throug,h faith and love Thy face I'd see, 

E'en though 'twere through Gethsemane!" 
A sheen of li^ht o'ercasts my bed, 

A voice speaks, "Hush! He is not dead. 
This one ^reat truth believe — aye, know. 

Because I live, ye live also. 
I am of truth Thy life. Thy breath, 

Believe in me. Ne'er taste of death." 
I leap upright, dazed in the ^low, 

I hide my face and bend me low. 
A voice within, so firm yet sweet, 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



TKis wondrous message dotK repeat. 
"TKere's one ^reat trutk I needs must brin^, 

It is the edict from tKy Kin^." 
Wrin^ not tKy hands, spurn idle tears, 

In retrospect of misspent years, 
Where lack of zeal has failed to show 

To faltering men the God you know. 
Arise and do, where man hath trod. 

The things I bid for, I am God. 
I am in you and you in me 

We twain are one eternally. 
This doth thy God require of thee, 

Live truth for all humanity." 
This mandate heed, the voice obey. 

Then serve with Him through endless day. 
Why sorrowing ^rope thou thy way? 

The darkest hour lies nearest day. 
When shadows fall and cables strain. 

Through ^rievin^ loss or crucial pain. 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



We're want to hold unwitting plaint, 

Toward Him who g,uides, though oft 
restraint 
Be Wisdom's way to brin^ about 

The ^ood of man from inside out. 
Should I bechide "It's God's own way 

Permitting ni^ht to follow day?" 
Strong dwells the God of Love in thee 

To lead and shape thy destiny. 
The voice within thou shalt obey, 

With him is life, the truth, the way, 
His star appears. The truth is born, 

That darkened men may reach the morn. 
The sun is risen! There is no ni^ht. 

Brother, fear-tossed, behold thy li^ht. 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



REFINING 

To everyone in life 

TKere comes some testing time, 
A day to try the soul 

As ne'er before; 
When character rises 

To heights sublime, 
Or failing, it falls 

Perchance to rise no more. 



THERE IS NO NIGHT 



MY CARPENTER 

I know we are building 

As we journey alon^ by the way; 
Each thoug,ht is a nail driven 

In timbers that cannot decay. 
At last when we've finished 

Be it loathsome, majestic, or ^ay 
It shall be returned to us 

Just as we willed and built it today. 




A PILGRIM'S CAMP 



•AN EXECUTIVE ODE 

Wliere justice reigns in any fi^Kt, 

Whatever is is always ri^ht. 
Staid He tKe Kand that would defeat 

To cast the world now at thy feet? 
Dear chosen voice, whate'er betide, 

A loyal host is at thy side. 
No North, no South, no East, no West, 

You are our country's barred breast 
With sword unsheathed as her behest 

To aveng,e the wrongs of God's oppressed. 
Since justice now is our delight, 

Whatever is, is always rig,ht. 
The blood this awful scourge has shed 

* Dedicated and addressed to the Chief Executive of the United 
States of America on March tenth, nineteen seventeen at the close 
of one of the keenest political campaig,ns in a half century and at 
a time when war clouds bulked ominous and the roar of cannon 
and shell were continental. 



AN EXECUTIVE ODE 



Cries for revenue from cursed dead. 
The Oppressor's clan now hides its face 

Throug,h consciousness, needless disgrace. 
Great God who doth the worlds command 

Be thou Columbia's brain and hand. 
Unto her sons wisdom ordain 

Let Justice now thy people rei^n 
That awful scourge of shot and shell 

Be cast with all into its hell. 
Let Peace with ri^ht come on apace 

'Till it shall compass every race. 
And then, Oh God of love and li^ht, 

Where your Son shines there is no nig,ht. 
When Justice wields the sword of mig,ht, 

Whatever is, is always Ri^ht. 



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